


The Rhythm Runs Back to you

by LouEve_094



Series: Haikyuu!! (omegaverse) [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alpha Iwaizumi Hajime, Alpha Kuroo Tetsurou, Alpha Sawamura Daichi, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Band Fic, Childhood Trauma, Dark, Drinking, Fluff, Hardcore, Multi, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Sugawara Koushi, Omega Tsukishima Kei, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Rape/Non-con Elements, Smut, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:54:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27486079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LouEve_094/pseuds/LouEve_094
Summary: There was no one else but him. No one mattered except for the man with silver hair that shone brighter than any light. But life had stolen Suga from him, and Iwa wanted nothing more than to get him back. So he turned to the only solace he had – spreading the news of his love all over the world, hoping one day to find enough peace in himself to turn back, go back and start things over.He performs to hundred every day of the week – but Suga knows its meant for his ears only. His heart melts at every word, but he fears the day Iwa returns, to find him bonded to another man. It doesn't stop the longing, for a something more, a safe place to turn to.Except they're grown ups now. And in the adult world, for a well-known singer, and his mysterious omegan lover, no one's safe anymore. No one wants them to stay together. The world is fighting for them to stay apart, but in the end, Iwa knows,"The rhythm runs back to you"*contains spoilers for other work in the series – but you can read separately*
Relationships: Haiba Lev/Yaku Morisuke, Iwaizumi Hajime/Sugawara Koushi, Kuroo Tetsurou/Tsukishima Kei, Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi
Series: Haikyuu!! (omegaverse) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2007484
Comments: 21
Kudos: 31





	1. Downpour

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys!!  
> To readers that have read my other work – Welcome back!! I hope you're ready, because at this point you should probably have a vague understanding of what you're in for. Just a heads up, eventually this will contain spoilers for my other work "Blurred Lines", but this first chapter – spoiler free – just for you guys. Haha.  
> To readers that are new – Welcome also! This is a second work in a series, but can also be a stand alone, other characters and couples that are mentioned in this are probably the focus of (geez i need to keep it vague okay?) my other work or future project works. Idk, I'm rambling. 
> 
> What I'm saying, is thank you for giving this a shot!  
> And when you're done, drop a comment! 
> 
> Enjoy!

It had always been them, just the two of them, since the dawn of time. Or at least that was what it felt like, standing there in the pouring rain, barely managing to shelter themselves under the thick, low hanging branches of an old tree. There was nothing else but them and the constant downpour – nothing else mattered.

They had only met a few minutes ago, running into each other. One kicking stones with a sombre look on his face, the other running with bruises on his and tears glistening softly. Neither saw the other until it was too late.

Heads bumping, falling, butts aching, their eyes met and for a second they were complete strangers. Just two boys living different lives, walking parallel lines. But only for a second.

Next the rain came a-tumbling down, the steady misty pit-a-pat now drowning out all but a metre in front of them. And then, they were comrades, fighting against the weather’s moods, giggling and laughing, splishing and splashing in the puddles creating by fat plump droplets tumbling. Then it began to sting a bit, as worn fabric saturated, as clothes stuck to skin and the sky went a-rumbling.

Their eyes met again and they flashed with the fun of the thrill. Now they were pirates, kicking the bark and the leaves and running towards the trees in the park — their fleet of ships ready for departure. Anyone who came near they’d fight, defend their waterlogged territory, brandishing sticks that snapped in their hands. Laughs were barely heard in the rain. But they didn’t care, they laughed anyway, watching the crinkles in each other’s smile.

One poked the other with a stick and then they were fighting, sticks clashing. War! Fighting in trenches and battling the enemy. They’d never yield. One yelled ‘to the death’ and the other merely laughed and disarmed him, stick snapping at the base. But then a little bit of ice came dropping down from above, and war was forgotten — running, laughing in the storm.

They sheltered under a large tree.

It was smiles and grins until the cold seeped in. And they scooted closer. Huddled for warmth. And then there were smiles and grins again, but different. Less chaotic. Softer, warmer, stable. Comforting.

The downpour worsened, the sky rumbled and white light flashed, and the older boy reached and grabbed a chunk of ice. He handed it to the smaller boy — who had bruises on his face too dark to be anything good. And the smaller boy lifted it to his face, and grinned. They shook with the cold, clothes saturated with the storm, but their eyes remained alive — live like the lightning.

It was the thrill that had compelled them to play in the rain, the thrill that had let them endure the pain. But now that thrill lessened, and the two boys stopped playing and began to whisper. Whisper like no one had let them before, hidden by ice and the downpour.

And when the rain began to cease, and the storm chased something more off on a distant shore, they supplemented the sound for their feet on the ground and talked louder in the cloudy day. They left the park. On the sidewalk the smaller boy shivered, and the taller boy noticed and without thinking pulled him close. Natural instinct. It meant nothing to either of them — a gesture of kindness. Nothing more, nothing less.

They walked, and they talked and they laughed and they smiled. Continued playing and jumping in puddles where the sidewalk dipped, pulling faces and hands. And then they reached the place of bumped heads, falling and aching butts, and realised parting ways was a path they’d have to take.

After all, they walked on parallel lines, living parallel lives — as least that’s what Iwa thought.

He saw him again. And again. Always popping up where he least expected it. When they graduated from Year 2 (like it was a big thing) Iwa saw him in the ice-cream shop, walking alone and licking a single scoop cone – a mouth wateringly good smell. When Iwa learnt how to ride his bike during that summer the smaller boy was there, grinning as he scooted down the path, more bruised and banged up than his old scooter. He remembers the first time the boy came over, big smiles and boundless energy – looking shocked at how bare the walls were. Iwa explained that they simply didn’t have money to afford decor and they continued on with their lives, moving forwards. He remembers their first warm hug, after Iwa messed up his first big maths test in Year 5, crying in the bathroom but comforted by that warm inviting smile and open arms.

He saw him again and again. Every day that passed, they would meet, greet, sit and eat and laugh and play in the dawn of the day or the pouring rain. And he remembered all of it.

Their lives intertwined, no longer parallel but like the wool of a sheep’s body, indistinguishable from the next strand. They blurred as time flew by, the rhythm of the days spent together a steady beat in both their lives, a safe space away from the chaos. Merely living, breathing, basking in the glow of their youth and the sweet hopeful breeze of summer in the trees – as they tried to deny reality.

And then, all of a sudden and all too fast, they grew up.

One day the boy just stopped smiling, and the laughs were lost to the bruises that kept him from talking – tracing his neck in sadistic trails. And his eyes grew dim and distant and he froze whenever someone walked near. Iwa would ask and ask and beg but the boy gave him nothing. He brushed it off – tears in his eyes and a bright fake smile. Nothing more, nothing less.

One day Iwa stopped showing, and the time spent in class talking and whispering was lost to physical labour tearing his body and wearing down his mind – his grades dropped, his absence count rose. And his face began to forget how to make those joyous smiles as his hands began to crack, fingers calloused. The boy would ask and ask and beg but he said nothing. He merely sighed and said money and moved on. Nothing more, nothing less.

Despite horrid hours of their home lives, they managed to stay friends, managed to smirk and tell stories in the dead of night, the only time when they could escape their lives. They would lie under the tree where they first met and look at the stars. Talked. Walked. Whispered about ‘what if’s’ and ‘would be’s’. They took their first sip of whiskey, drank their first beer – emotions curling, swirling, coiling. Nothing was alright, but it was always okay, because they had each other.

And their lives began to disintegrate, and they tried to hold onto their innocence and youth. Their hope. But it was torn away, all too soon.

Before high school started – it happened. The catalyst. The one thing that Iwa would never forget as long as he lived, and even in his grave it would be embedded in his bones. It propelled him to this day.

The boy had been gone for weeks. He hadn’t shown on the days Iwa had managed to turn up to school, nor had he answered his phone calls, nor texts. That wasn’t the worry though. He hadn’t shown up at random times of the day – he was always ‘out on a walk’ just to see Iwa. Both their feet would take them to the other’s haunts, but none of them were occupied by the bright presence of the boy. Not even occupied by the dimmer version of that boy. No, he hadn’t seen him in weeks.

And so Iwa’s feet propelled him to the one place the boy had made him promise to never go near.

His house.

Iwa’s feet avoided the patches of blood on the ground as the matte colours spilled onto the sidewalks reflecting the red lights of the district. It was the filthiest part of town – but he was familiar with it, paid cash to build buildings that shouldn’t be built. Money. Money was always the motive. Money was always the reason.

Omegan girls catcalled, collars twinkling as they twirled artificial tails, dressed in too little for what the weather allowed. Iwa didn’t look, kept his feet on the clean patches of ground. Alphan males growled with pleasure and cries of pain echoed. Fear. Hidden under the lust and the heavy overbearing perfumes of horny alphas and omegas, there was fear. There had always been fear.

And then, he’d turned down another side street, where houses lent on each other to stay upright and he saw him. Down by the bins, covered in all manner of things that should never be touched by anyone, let alone a small helpless boy. And his feet had started running, wishing they could run faster, towards the male that looked so similar – but decades older with a whip in his hand. The whip came down and the boy cried out, and Iwa screamed in fury and anger and all the emotions that had been building up over the years.

The older male turned, revealing a face so similar to the boy he trusted with his life, but twisted into a horrid growl – scent overpowering, dominating. He yelled at Iwa, telling him to fuck off and mind his own business, to leave him to deal with his defective mutt. Then Iwa saw red, and made it reality, using the muscles hardened by hard labour, using the mindset gained by a hard life. His fist went up and it came down, and the man hit back, calling him names that would haunt him to this day. And they brawled as the boy near the bins cried in anger and shame.

Iwa emerged miraculously victorious, landing a lucky blow to the temple that sent the man a tumbling. And as the man went a-tumbling, the sky went a-rumbling, and the air clouded with fine droplets, cooling the flushed skin and stinging the scrapes and bruises.

And when Iwa turned his head to look that the bins he was astounded by what he saw.

The boy he liked, a little more than a friend, a boy that was there till the very end of every day, was lying there, collar fastened around his neck, chain running to the groaning wall, lying there limp and beat and bruised. Behind him a small kennel sat, like a dark pit of despair, and a food bowl – the same one for a dog – filled with rotten food and water, a sludge that even pigs would avoid. And his face, perfect porcelain, once clear and unbroken, was nearly unrecognizable, purple welts still growing, blood trickling from mouth, from nose, from wounds in his face that only meant rough handling. His clothes were torn and ragged, shirt stripped from where the whip came down, back stripped from where it came down again and again and again.

Iwa fell to his knees and gingerly wrapped his arms around him. His heart ached, his chest near breaking at the sight of his friend. If only he could have protected him.

He rushed the boy to the local hospital, the one with peeling paint on the walls and coughing elders for staff. It was the only one that didn’t pay much for treatment. And sitting there, waiting for the boy to heal he made a promise in the dead of the morning, as the din of the downpour outside shielded their conversation from others. He made a promise when the boy woke up, fearful and frantic and panicking – crying out for an unknown male not to hurt him. Iwa had held him and spoke through the thick emotion clouding his brain.

“I’m going to bond with you, okay?” He’d said, clutching the other boy close, tears falling from both their eyes, “I promise, one day I’ll bond with you and keep you safe. I’ll keep you safe Sugawara.”

He’d said that in the moment of pain, of struggle and of loss. But he meant every word. The words burned themselves into both of their minds – a promise they thought they would always keep.

So why did he run?


	2. Changing times, changing tides

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So WHY did you run Hajime?  
> *cries*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um...   
> Sorry in advance. 
> 
> \- still no spoilers for other work –   
> (Imma put this warning up every chap. so keep an eye out for it)

So why did he run?

After that night things were different. And not just in their relationship.

Iwa’s parents kicked him out as soon as he turned fifteen, telling him that he had to find his own way in life, that they didn’t want to see him again. He told himself it was money. It had always been about the money. But in his heart he knew it was so much more than that. And so, his heart broke a little then and there — sinking the alpha into despair, he could take the physical labour and the emotional shit he could deal with, but it hurt to hear it from the parents. After all they had always been the centre of his galaxy.

So he moved in with Oikawa, and began to save the money he needed. Not to buy a flat, not to feed himself but to look after the boy — the soft, sweet lipped, silver haired boy — who had become his reality. He wished he could do something to help.

Suga’s parents tried to keep him, tried to keep to use and abuse, train him like a dog on a leash, to earn money for the family for the company in the worst ways possible. _Because you aren’t a fucking alpha, you’re an omega. Pathetic, inferior, just someone to be fucked and give birth to real men. Useless. Just something to be beat._ And Suga couldn’t run. Bound by law he couldn’t seek help — omegas had to rely on somebody else. He was trapped in a culture that oppressed him, and Iwa could see how much it hurt.

Bruises danced daunting patterns up and down his pale skin. His voice, sweet and refined like a twinkling wind chimes on a summer’s day would be lost. Ulcers crowded his mouth, and he didn’t explain them. He didn’t explain the languid hand prints and scratch marks that littered his arms and his thighs, not the ginger way in which he walked. Nor the ginger way in which he talked.

They both felt no need to explain. They’d been together since the pouring rain. They’d seen every dawn and dusk on each horrible day. They knew the way their lives suffered, and the way they lent on each other’s to survive.

Every day he would go to the yards, hauling wood and lugging luggage, an extra set of hands for a boss that wasn’t legal. Cash in hand, bad part of town, he spent the summer in sweltering heat breathing in lungful of smoke, ash and smog. Iwa’s voice grew husky and as he talked he would stop to cough and clear his throat, and his voice changed. Every day his hands would be rubbed red raw and hurting, until they didn’t, calloused. Every day his back would sting and hurt a bit more, until it didn’t, muscles growing to accommodate the strain. Every day his eyes would fill with wobbly tears as he kicked stones along the sidewalk home, until they didn’t, eyes dry and heart forming a crust that wouldn’t be broken. His demeanour changed. He became quiet, no longer voicing his thoughts.

And Suga became louder. He filled the space Iwa had left, making up for the gaps in the sound. Neither of them admitted that it was because he was too scared to sit in silence – silence had always meant that his father had nothing to do, silence had always meant anger and violence and beatings so bad he’d call Iwa to come pick him up from behind the bins of his house late at night. Beatings so bad that he’d cry and he’d cry and he’d cry. Then the next morning he would laugh, though wincing in pain, to convince Iwa – but mainly himself – that everything was okay. He became loud, no longer waiting for life to push him around.

Things were changing.

Things were changing too fast for them to adapt. They weren’t able to weather against the storm — and it was scaring them.

The summer days lengthened slowly, and Oikawa’s patience shortened slightly. The other alpha was struggling enough to pay off the loan for his house — and housing people, providing for two people was pushing the limits of his and his parents generosity. He couldn’t’ve been more apologetic, he couldn’t have hated himself more, but neither saw it that way. They forgave him. In all truths, they’d been calling it their safe space for far too long.

In the rain they packed their things, in the storm they left with their bags, in the flashes of thunder and lightning they walked to the bus stop to stop living a false hope. Though Iwa had found a room, it was nothing more than a damp garage that a tired landlord wanted occupied. 

And Suga followed in his step, to the new place they would call their home.

After all, Iwa had promised to protect him. But in the end, it had been him to push the other away. It had been for his protection, to save him from himself and his family. Suga needed an alpha that could care for him fully. And it broke Iwa’s heart to see him go. It still broke Iwa’s heart to think about it, but he lived in the memory every day.

It should’ve been obvious.

Suga’s phone didn’t stop buzzing. It cried and it crawled across the floor towards them, buzzing in incessant tones of anger and hatred. They tried to turn it on silent, but every time the face flickered with a new notification the omega would jump, whimper and trail his fingers gingerly across his throat. Iwa did all he could do to help, he tried. He really tried. He tried to stay available, emotionally as well as literally. But with every day that passed, his responsibilities doubled, and the world that weighed on his shoulders increased in size. And Suga’s phone didn’t stop buzzing.

“Where are you going to high-school?” Suga had asked one afternoon, sitting cross legged on a mouldy old mattress. His hair was long and fine and silver, and when he ran his hand through it, the light caught all the right places. When he ran his hand through it, Iwa could see fading bruises, and small patches of blood that short cold showers couldn’t wash away.

“Same school as Oikawa. Mother phoned me up the other day to confirm.” He had replied, voice low and bitter.

“Aoba Joshai?”

“Mmm.” He had hummed, preparing dinner on a little camp stove he’d had the foresight to purchase a week into moving. That night they had pea and ham soup – that night had put him off it forever, “You?”

“I want to go to Aoba Joshai too, obviously. Tooru and you and are my closest friends. It also, you know, far away from… home.” His voice lingered on the last word, then he shook his head gently, “I mean my parent’s house, duh. Idiot, sorry, ignore me.”

He flashed a bright, soft Suga grin in his direction. It was so like him to hide his feelings like that. Iwa had merely smiled and hummed, finding a beat in the depths of his brain, and putting a melody to it. It was low and gravelly, but he knew how much Suga like the ambient noise, something to find a sense of safety in. Something that meant everything was okay, everything was going to be ok.

It should’ve been obvious. The phone had been silent for a while now. It had been silent all day.

The door burst open. It was loud, and shocking, and tears sprung to Suga’s eyes unwittingly. Iwa knocked over the soup in haste to comfort and protect – or both, or neither. He moved in fear of what was to come. Men in black suits entered the room, faceless, nameless authorities. But one was different. A tall looming man, with a face that Iwa had grown up beside, but spotted with wrinkles stubble and stains from a previous meal, pointed a grubby finger in their general direction.

“That’s him! That’s my defective omega.” The alpha male snarled and leered, and wasn’t even able to bring himself to say the word ‘son’. He stood with silver-grey hair and a triumphant smile on his face, as if to say he’d one the chase. The men in black suits reached behind Iwa and pulled Suga from his frozen position on the bed.

He immediately lashed out, crying and hitting and fighting and spitting, in desperate attempts to separate himself from the suits that held him. Someone restrained Iwa, his strong arms twisted and held by even stronger ones. He was helpless. Again.

“SUGA!” Another hand muffled the rest of his yell and the person that held it trembled as his teeth found gloved hand, “Suga, don’t give up!”

It should’ve been obvious.

“Sugawara Kyoshi, you have violated the clause B of section 2 of the Dynamic Law, that is,” A suit leaned in close to where Suga was restrained, fitfully struggling. The boy was the only omega in the room, and his distressed scent only caused everyone to be more on edge, for their instincts to be more prominent, “That is, an unbonded omega, neither engaged in courtship nor heat cycle, has not followed the guardian alpha’s instructions and has attempted to pose at what they are not – a beta of society. Unbonded omega’s over the age of 15, unless engaged in a courtship, may not leave the household of their guardian alpha. And Mr Sugawara Kyoshi – you’ve done just that. Because this is a first offence, there will be no longer criminal record implications, just a warning.”

The suits made to leave, three with their arms wrapped around a frail body, trailed by a man who looked as if he should be the one restrained.

“I’m gonna train you up so good. You won’t even dare to leave the house without begging.” He snarled.

How were they so deaf? How were the so blind? How could the alphan authorities not find and ounce of empathy to help this kind, sweet soul that Iwa knew to be so beautiful.

“HAJIME!” Suga screamed, finally wrenching a hand from his mouth, blood trickling from his lips. His eyes were wide and frightened and the blood ran cold where it sat in Iwa’s limbs, unlike the hot hands that held him in place, “HAJIME PLEASE I DON’T WANT TO GO. I DON’T WANT TO BE ALONE. I WANT TO BE WITH YOU! I DON’T WANT TO GO HOME!!”

Iwa’s teeth clenched around clothed flesh, and he gnawed at the hands, attempting to remove it. But it stay firmly clenched and instead of him gnawing, his emotions gnawed at him. He watched, helpless, as they dragged his closest slightly-more-than-a-friend, the only boy he’d ever loved from the room. And just like that he was gone too soon.

The two suits that held him, waited for a while, until the let him go with a smirk and a smile. And then Iwa felt fear down in his gut, knowing that he’d finally run out of luck.

“The Mister promised us a good service if we dealt with you. That boy won’t be able to walk for a week once we’re done with him.”

A slap across his cheek and his head hit the floor, and all of sudden daylight was no more. He rested in the sweet unconsciousness, forgetting the troubles and pains of the day. But when the night waned and the day made its way, when he woke to an empty abode, his heart struck a vein of pained gold, and he cried. For the first time in a long while, his face caved and his eyes scrunched up as wet hot tears dropped from his face to the floor and he longed for Suga, for the man he adored.

He’d been unable to protect him.

Again.

So when he saw him next, two weeks from that day, it was with pain in his heart, and lump in his throat that he told him, no. Suga couldn’t talk, he could hardly walk, delicate fingers trembled as held Iwa’s hand. The minute they had seen each other, in parallels across the street, Suga had rushed over – disregarding oncoming traffic – and fallen into the alphas strong, stable arms. And Iwa held him. Held him tight, held him close – because he feared it would be the last time.

_Dad enrolled me in Karasuno_

He had typed into his phone, shown the other.

_I don’t want to go._

“I know you don’t.”

_I want to stay with you._

“I know you do.” Iwa had swallowed, felt the guilt. Felt the pain bubble like acid raindrops falling from darkening skies. He felt the guilt that rose in his stomach like poppies blooming amongst war graves. He wanted to protect him. He wanted to protect the other, even if it meant losing him.

“Look, Suga. I can’t protect you.”

He felt selfish. He felt sick.

“And you need to find someone who can get you out of your home. Because I can’t start courting you until I have a place. And it’s killing you. Your place is killing you. You need to find an alpha that can give you a safe space. You need to find someone else.”

The image of Suga, the beautiful boy, in front of him wavered. His eyes filled with tears of sadness, and why did it hurt so much to say these words? Suga’s fingers trembled as he tried to type, to rebut, to shut down, to stop Iwa’s insecurities in himself from welling up and drowning them both. But his hands shook too much and his phone dropped to the ground, barely a sound in the still surrounds – their hearts beat a bit too loud in their ears and their throats clogged with unspoken emotions.

“Find someone at Karasuno who can love you like I do.”

And then he left a chaste kiss on Suga’s lips. A first, a last. A way, he hoped, to remember the past. And his feet turned away, and he picked up his pace, forgetting his reason to come out, walking into the sunny day. One that was quickly turning to rain. He left Suga alone on the sidewalk with his shattered heart, hoping one day they could pick up the glass pieces and put them back together – in some way or another.

When high school started, they stopped seeing each other regularly. Though Iwa would run past their old haunts, and Suga would stop and sit on the benches in the park where they first met, fingers tracing weathered wood. And months passed. Months passed until they met eyes again, opposite sides of the volleyball court, each drenched in sweat, chest heaving, uniforms different colours and numbers – that hurt to see. And Oikawa saw it, Oikawa knew it all, and his eyes grew sad for his friends, because he’d been hurt too.

Iwa knew he shouldn’t have.

He should’ve left it.

Let it be.

Let time pass as it should, and memories fade in the wind.

But memories past let feelings last, and he couldn’t say no to the lively silver eyes that danced like wildflowers in the spring.

So he approached the omega after the game, and stood with him awkwardly off to the side. The omega looked better, fresher, well fed and well cared for. His face had filled out slightly and his smile seemed more at ease, more natural – though his eyes remained slightly sad.

“Did you get out?” Iwa had to restrain himself from leaving a lingering touch down the others arms. He had to restrain himself from hugging him and crying and laughing and congratulating him for escaping, for moving on, and god he’d missed him so much. It’d been, frankly, too long.

And Suga had hummed an agreement, and his voice – once lost to the horrors of his youth – sounded beautiful. It etched its way into Iwa’s heart.

“Have you gotten out?” It was more of a roundabout question, but Iwa knew what it meant. He swallowed and scratched the back of his neck; he’d been dreading this. He shook his head and watched his hands instead, “The boss cut my pay, and I’m crashing with Shittykawa over there. Sorry Suga.”

“What’s –“

“Excuse me, what are you doing talking to my courtmate?”

Iwa’s broken heart shattered further. A large, sturdy smiling alpha with black hair and eyes alive with youth made his way to stand in front of him. The alpha slung an arm around the omega’s shoulder and changed his smile to a glare, “I know he’s pretty but unfortunately for you he’s taken.”

_By me._ Iwa wanted to say it, but there was no way he could protect Suga. Neither from the horrors of his family or the hard life Iwa had been forced into. There was no way he wanted to damage Suga further – to have Suga’s soft heart hardened. So instead he smiled politely, “Sorry, I was just looking to get your setter’s contact details. I think both our setters can learn and grow off each other.”

The couple raised their eyebrows. The alpha in a way that suggested _Hm maybe that’s a good idea_ , Suga in a way that said, _Yeah fuck off, we’re completely different setters and beside Oikawa’s got his head so far up his ass he’s seeing out his mouth – there’s no way we’re exchanging ‘pointers’. Also, you know he’s better and you’re just biased towards me_. Iwa was reading too much into it, but they exchanged numbers, checked they were the right ones and then parted, Suga looking longingly over his shoulder, Iwa determined to not look back.

It was Sawamura Daichi.

Sawamura Daichi was why he ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey hey...............  
> So.., I wish I felt more guilt for the heartbreak than I do, but I absolutely loved writing this chapter. I think it's just because of the constant rain metaphors (thoughts anyone?), but yay we actually get some dialogue this chapter! 
> 
> Just so ya know, the main story is gonna take place in an aged-up AU, I'm just setting the scene right now. There's a lot of scenes to be set. Also just so y'all get an idea of the sort of trauma and hard life they've been dealt. 
> 
> Anyways, drop a comment on your thoughts! Cause no doubt you have a lot haha. Did ya enjoy Iwa's reading of Suga's facial expression at the end? I tried to lighten the scene oh so slightly by adding that in. Haha.
> 
> I hoped you like the chapter,  
> Lots of love,   
> Lou


	3. It's okay to say you're not okay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suga's not the only one who got out, Iwa escaped, but feelings follow in his wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey my lovelies!   
> This took a bit of time to write up, but don't worry – not breaking hearts this chapter. 
> 
> \- contains no spoilers for other work(s) -

**_Present Day – South-west border of Russia_ **

Iwaizumi stared out at the tendrils of rain the snaked down the windows of the train. The steady click-clack had sent his friends to sleep, and the silent mountains that slowly crept past were also coercing him into unconsciousness. But it was raining, and he could never sleep while it rained. Others felt calmed, but he felt like a live wire – on edge.

His pen tapped his notebook. Thoughts of days past flooded his head, and he fought to push back the intruding waters. His pen tapped his notebook and he glanced over at his sleeping friends, all gangly legs and messy hair. Their sleeping quarters looked more lived in than their own homes, but that was to be expected. None of them had been home in a very long time.

Click-clack. He tapped his pen and drummed his fingers. They blended together. Click-clack. Tap, tap. Click-clack. His mind whirred, as he attempted to pull the memories away from the emotions that surged through his body. Attempted to put words to the emotions, that didn’t betray the memories.

_Staring at the ones who run._

_Beat of your breath, broke my heart_

_In the dark, you took me apart_

_With your scalpel and blade_

He etched the ink into the page, then turned his head to watch the rain. It didn’t feel right. It was too close and not close enough.

_Steal? Stole?_

The stanza stood surrounded by white blank page, and he covered it with black ink, dark lines and synonyms and hymns of related words and worries.

_When you stole my heart, you broke it too?_

Arrow off, then crossing out. That wouldn’t do. Fuck. Click-clack. Tap, tap, tap.

“Da-dum, da-da dum.” Murmuring into his hand, sighing. The rhythm was off with the words, there was no consistency, “Fuck.”

And then the rain beat down harder and the view opened up – a drop from a height he didn’t dare quantify, he didn’t dare to look down. But the clouds were dark and looming, tantalizingly gloomy, and what the fuck was he even thinking? He had to start writing. Iwa looked back down at his page, and turned it over. Fresh, white. New blank slate.

And started to hum, started to drum his fingers against the paper listen to the steady rock of the train, and drill of the rain and the beat of his heart. The wind howled and he began to write.

_The stronger the wind, the harder the wood._

_The fleeting shadows feed me so good._

_When you smile in the dark_

_Do they know where you started at?_

_When you smile in the sun_

_Do they tell you where they run?_

_Irresistible_

_Uncontainable_

_Like the flow of the tides, they push and pull_

_Force of nature_

_Capture your fate._

He laughed at the scrawled letters on the page – “That makes no sense you idiot.”

“I don’t know, I quite like that.” A low melodic purr rumbled from beside him.

Iwa tipped his head and his vision went from the page to the man beside him. Long, lean – model-like features with green striking eyes and silver, nearly white hair, the lead singer of the band read the words of the page, humming.

“You’re right, it doesn’t make much sense, but once you refine it, it’ll be like liquid gold.” Lev Haiba sent a lazy grin up at him, the one he didn’t have to practice in the mirror every day to perfect it for swooning fans, “You’ll be even more popular with the ladies after this one.”

Iwa sighed and tried to return the grin, failing miserably as he read over his pathetic attempt at some lyrics again. They just clashed, it didn’t sound right, “I’m not going to be the one singing it, idiot. Besides, I don’t even know what sound you and Alisa are going for.”

A small grunt sounded from across the room. They both turned to watch a shapely figure roll over in a small bed, toss her head and open her equally striking green eyes. Lev’s sister despite just awaking, despite having been captured in deep slumber for the past few hours with creases in her shirt and unkempt, still looked as if she was posing for a photo shoot in uptown Moscow.

“Just write what you want, Iwa baby.” She shot him an equally lazy grin as her brother, tinged with a hint of her womanly charm. She was the one to pick him off the curb in Berlin – the curb where he’d been busking to pigeons in the early morning dawn, the saxophone he’d been working the only thing to catch the sun. She was the one to notice his little scribbles of poetry on the napkins when she’d taken him to breakfast. She was the one to invite him to travel with them, giving him a stable meal and lodging in return for playing a few of their gigs.

And the duo became a trio.

Except it wasn’t really a duo at all, and they were returning to their home studio in Moscow. The train continued to rock steadily on the tracks, click-clack, and the woman leaned over to his notebook – ever present, this far into the job – and snatched it from his hands. Iwa didn’t even make to protest. He turned to look at the window as she picked up a tune, created by her internal rhythm, and began to hum and vocalise his musings. Iwa couldn’t help but let a blush spread across his face as the raw words, symbolising raw feelings were voiced to reality.

If he had it his way, they would stay in the void between black stencilled lines, to be read quietly beneath the covers, to be contemplated in mind and in soul only. But this also wasn’t too bad. It helped bridge the gap between him and… he squashed the rising thoughts.

“Capture your fate, huh?” She hummed and looked up at him. He felt her gaze and turned to meet it, silently waiting for evaluation. On bad days she’d shut him down. On okay days she’d nod and say it was nice but could be better. On good days she’d add to it, expand it and watch the flowers of their musings bloom into fruits of their efforts.

“Capture your fate _,_ hmm, _,.. what about, cast your fate into molten lakes of shimmering dreams and…uh…”_ She paused and hummed some more, drilling dents in the page with four perfect fingernails. If Iwa was a writer, preferring pen to page, to create his fame, she was a singer, putting sounds to silence, to muse her views and viewpoints, “ _because everyone deserves a second chance._ And then Lev you can come in a sing that really low chorus that Iwa wrote, and I can sing those lines and if Iwa’s on the sax in the background then we can create a really ethereal feel. What do you think?”

Iwa thought it captured too many feelings than he could put into words, that it was perfect and even his napkin poetry didn’t really measure up to Alisa’s profound way of stringing words together. But he was supposed to be the resident writer. After all, it was the only reason why he was on the train to Moscow with the siblings now.

“How about, with that chorus bit,” Iwa pried the notebook from Alissa’s long pretty hands and clicked his pen. His hand struggled to keep up with the words in his brain, the rhythm running faster and faster, “We go something like…

_Irresistible_

_Inescapable_

_Force of the flow of the feel of the future you fight_

_We run and we hide_

_From the ash in the sky_

_Forced hand_

_New plan_

_Capture your fate and throw it away._

…Does that sound okay?”

He handed it back to the woman sprawled, ignoring the way Lev looked at them all – left out of the conversation. But Iwa knew that the other alpha male didn’t really mind it, taking out his phone and using his thumbs to scroll the screen, probably looking at numerous fan pages set up in his name. The duo doubled as models, so their act was quite well known.

Rain continued to run races down the glass panes that barred them in, barred the outside out.

His fingers itched to hold his notebook again, to just start writing. Lose himself in the grief and the pain that seemed determined to pull him under at any moment. It had welled up so suddenly with the rain, and he knew it would ebb as it ebbed. The rain – the natural phenomenon that sustained human life – held so many potent, painful memories, he couldn’t help but want to lock himself away whenever the heavens opened. Iwa felt raw.

“That’s quite profound Iwa. I wouldn’t expect anything less of our writer.” She smiled, “It fits.”

She handed it back and their hands brushed and she held his gaze unabashed. Something sparked, a knowing glint in her eyes, and Iwa wondered if he was too direct with his words. And then Alisa tipped her head towards her brother, shot Iwa a sly, calculating grin and launched herself across the compartment. Gracefully, of course.

“Who are you texting?”

The moment of tension eased, and with it Iwa relaxed into the melodic buzz and hum of laughter in the cabin, as Lev went bright red and Alissa began to tease. Even with their otherworldly looks, they were still siblings, and they were still out riding life for the fun times. Their hearts hadn’t been hardened yet, even with their share of hardships in life.

As he eased into the white noise bliss of clacking train wheels on tracks, drill of the rain and the sound of fun in between boasts of fame – Lev had more followers than Alisa – Iwa couldn’t help but feel a little nostalgic for his youth. For the days before the pain, and for the days of hope in between the dark spots in his memories.

He wondered if anyone missed him. He wondered if anyone was still looking for him, still had their ear to the ground. He doubted it. He’d been gone for ten years after all, disappearing into the crowds of the globe and not looking back. Trying not to look back.

Iwa sighed and tapped his pen against his notebook and wrote two lines. Two lines that he’d never show to anyone – not even to the siblings that had taken him in.

_I still hope that you defend your right_

_To love with no reason on a midsummer’s night_

It made no sense. But he thought of Suga, and he thought of that summer, where they were carefree lovers, hiding from reality – speaking in low tones and mystery, and he hoped that Suga still thought of him, if not in the day then in those silent minutes in the morning, before the world woke. That’s all Iwa was asking for, a space in his mind where Suga could remember him. He didn’t want to be forgotten. He wanted to be loved. But, as always, he hadn’t been enough.

Iwa closed his notebook and turned to the siblings, turned to his friends. The rain was lessening and with that outlet of a couplet he felt a small smile tug his lips.

“Who’s Lev been texting?”

Alisa shot him a grin and Lev covered his pink-dusted cheeks with his hands, “No one okay? God, I just want to text in peace. Can’t I do that?”

“Is it a fan?”

His blush deepened and Iwa widened his grin – but didn’t crack his masked expression. His feelings were for him and him alone. He would deal with his shit by himself. Lev snatched his phone back off Alisa, who was attempting to find the alleged textee through the hundreds of DM’s the singer got, and turned it off.

“You’re not going to find out.”

“In Moscow?” She prodded. Iwa admired her stubbornness.

“Come on ‘Lisa, don’t grill me.” He shoved her away, still blushing. After a pointed stare and a singular raised eyebrow, he conceded. Obviously the less dominant alpha. Or maybe it was a sibling telepathy thing that Iwa didn’t understand. Whatever had passed between them in the split second of struggle was obviously very intense – Alisa the clear winner of the argument, “Fuck. Fine. Yeah they’re in Moscow. Saw our stuff online on YouTube and wants to know if they can get tickets to the next show.”

“There’s a website for that.” Iwa added coolly into the conversation. He had to contribute somehow, and he was always more inclined to side with Alissa then Lev. Maybe it was her womanly charm, or the fact that neither of them, even together could win an argument with her.

“Well,..” He spluttered, “He’s.. I mean, they’re… also want to know about the after party. And how they can get in.”

Neither Alisa nor Iwa batted an eyelid at the _he_. Lev was ready and willing to have sex with just about anyone. The world was his oyster to fuck apparently. At least, that’s what Iwa had learnt about the alpha over the last four years of working together – Lev never said no to a good night out.

Alisa shrugged, “As long as _he_ doesn’t invite all his friends, you can bring him along. But tell him that you’ll pick him up after the concert. You know you have your pick of five fans. We all do.”

She shot a sidelong glance at Iwa, “Except him of course. His fans are too crazy for him to be allowed. Besides,.. the sax is already sexy enough. They don’t need to see him with his shirt off.”

Iwa chuckled and Lev laughed. Alisa grinned.

“So about that song then… do you want to make that the first song to lead into some our older stuff?” Lev asked.

Iwa watched as Alisa shook her head and sent silver tresses bouncing, “I reckon it’s strong enough to be our last song. Besides if we just say that it’s our usual line-up and then announce at the end – the fans will go crazy and think it’s something special for them. Almost like spur of the moment.”

Iwa nodded, drumming his fingers against his notebook again as another beat struck him, another rhythm that clawed at his fingers and took over his heart. He looked out the window and thought of the only man who could make that happen – Suga. And then another thought struck him and his pages were turning, heart burning and his fingers were flying.

“Looks like Iwa’s had some more inspiration.” He heard Alisa mumble.

“I wonder where he gets it from.” Lev replied.

“I don’t know. God maybe.”

Iwa heard laughs and giggles and muted chatting, but he didn’t care. All he knew was his heart beat in his chest and the catch of sorrow on his breath. He drew his inspiration from his memories past and the feelings that last, and the only man he’d loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As Bokuto would say, hey hey hey!!!
> 
> Poor Iwa's trying to run from his past, but we need to know it! Dw though I will delve into the mysteries of how he started playing the saxophone, and how he started writing poetry on napkins, and the difficulties in running away from home. BUTtttt... before we do that, next chapter is going to be a Suga-centric chapter in the present day!
> 
> Any-whoo, if you enjoyed the chapter please drop a comment! I want to know you thoughts about this cute little chap and what you guys want to see from this in the future!! I'm open to any ideas and speculations that you have haha
> 
> See you next chap!  
> Lots of love,  
> Lou


	4. I can't help but think

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suga can't help it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey fellas,  
> Can I just give a massive thank you!! We are now at 300 Hits! WOO!! 
> 
> Anyway, I think this chapter is 2500 words or something, it wrote itself honestly, I just wanted to get it out on paper as soon as possible. We really needed a Suga-centric chapter! 
> 
> So, enjoy!!

**_Present Day – Japan_ **

Suga sat at the bar. No one else was around to watch the curls of smoke rise from his cigarette. Nor the whiskey he seemed so intent on savouring.

“Excuse me sir,” He cooed to the bartender who didn’t seem surprised at all to see him, despite the fact the man had been sitting in the same spot for the past half hour doing nothing but sitting contemplating whatever thoughts crossed his mind, “Would you mind turning that up please?”

Suga gestured to the small tv mounted on the wall above the numerous bottles of high-end liquor and the smoke followed his hand, cigarette perched between two fingers. He took another long drag and felt the toxins relax his muscles. The bartender nodded and turned it up, with no complaints from any other customers. Which was just as well, as it was only Suga and him. He didn’t expect anyone more at ten thirty in the morning.

The pixels jiggled across the screen and it took a minute for Suga to realise that it was depicting snow instead of static. The audio remained clear, a bored sounding newsreader mumbling something about foreign aid and the current politic catastrophe abroad. A women’s voice interjected as the channel jumped over of its own accord and the image settled from static to small pixelated men, jumping, lights flashing, silhouetted against a stadium of thousands.

“You into this sort of stuff?” The bartender asked, hand on the remote. His head was turned towards Suga, but body angled towards the screen. They’d become close, the bartender and him. Bonding over many drinks early in the morning, exchanging phone numbers, Suga would often get texts when the bar opened especially early. Today was one of those days.

He shrugged and felt the heaviness of his coat pull at his shoulders. It was a nice, comforting feeling.

“It’s better background noise than a middle-aged newsreader who’s probably going to get a divorce next week.” He smiled into his whiskey and the bartended chuckled. The wisecracks at the unfortunate souls that graced the pixelated tv was what had made them closer. Suga put his glass down and raised the cigarette to his lips again savouring the drag, “So Akaashi, are you into this sort of stuff?”

The bartender, dark haired, with calculating eyes, raised an eyebrow. He turned to fetch a tray that Suga could tap his cigarette on and with his back still turned answered, “I’m not adverse to it. I’d rather watch sport reruns, but I know a few people in the industry, so it’s not foreign.”

Short and clipped, sophisticated. That’s how Akaashi liked it, and that’s how Suga liked to hear it. The man was so different to his mate, it was refreshing. Though they shared the same intense stare.

“Oh?” He tapped his cigarette and watched the end fall then lifted his head to watch the pixelated men on the screen sing and dance. It was band from, it the words down the bottom held any truth, America, singing something violent and raucous, “Pray tell? Please tell me you don’t have any _affiliation_ with these guys. They all look like they have brooms shoved up their arses. They practically scream; privileged.”

Akaashi gave a small chuckle at the comment, and Suga felt a little spark of pleasure from making him happy. Though it was gone, swallowed up by the hole left by his youth. He took another drag of the cigarette and tried to forget.

“No, my friends brother’s mate works as a sound editor for bands in Tokyo. Well one of the branches in Tokyo.”

“International?”

Akaashi opened a beer and took a swig. Not professional giving his placement on the wrong side of the counter, but no one else was in, and Suga didn’t care. The alpha nodded, “Yeah, some famous company in Moscow – _White_ _Lion Records_ or something sounding equally dumb.”

Suga laughed and the alpha’s eyes lingered on him. He stubbed out his cigarette and pulled his packet from his coat pocket, “Would those pixels on the screen now be part of them? I can’t make out the bottom text.”

Akaashi handed him a lighter and then turned to squint at the bottom text, “Yeah, it just says _White Lion_. I guess that’s the name.”

He shrugged and took another swig, then the door chimed and he swore as someone else entered. The man shook his umbrella and put it in the rack – “Excuse me barkeep, I’m looking for a very handsome man named Keiji Akaashi… do you know where I could find him?”

Suga turned to the new guest and saw a face he was very familiar with. Two tone hair, grey and black, like a perverse owl – or so people told him, Suga had trouble seeing it, a bright smile lit the man’s face. He was the barkeeps ‘friend’ and roommate, whose job know one knew. Suga wouldn’t have been surprised if it came out that he watered down vodka for the night club he frequented a few blocks away.

“Hey, hey, hey! Suga was it?” The owl man smiled at him. He lifted his whiskey in response, and wondered how the man knew his name. They only had a mutual friend, though guessing on the progression of the last few months, and the way Akaashi had a light blush tinging his cheeks a pretty pink, it was becoming more than friends on their part, “Do you mind if I steal the barkeep for a little while? He promised me a lunch date if no one was in.”

_Date_.

It had been a while since he heard that word. How long had it been since him and Daichi had been on a proper date? He didn’t know. About a month maybe. Date night was becoming more infrequent with the leaps and bounds Daichi was making in his career.

Not wanting to be a downer. Not wanting to let anybody down, to ruin Akaashi’s date and owl man’s mood (his name still escaped him) he sent them a bright, soft Suga smile. The same smile he practised every day in the mirror. Perfectly rehearsed and perfectly fake, “Well, call me no one then! You go enjoy your lunch” – he couldn’t bring himself to say date – “I’ll just finish this ciggy and then I’ll be out. If you want to lock up front Akaashi, I’ll make my escape out the back.”

They sent true smiles in his direction. And made their exit. Trusting.

Suga turned his attention back to the tv and watched pixels move. Then the scene changed and the aerial shivered and the noise became slightly louder, slightly clearer.

“So we come now to the act that has taken the world by storm. They call themselves _Silver Mutiny_ ,.. and as of yesterday have released their first full length album with vocals! Before coming to the spotlight, the siblings nicknamed the _Heart_ and his _Salvation,_ walked the Earth, transporting people to places galaxies away using astounding techniques with their cello and guitar combination –“

Suga only paid half mind to the words as he reached over and grabbed the bottle of whiskey. Akaashi would have to deal with having one less glass in his cabinet by the time other regulars started rolling in. He was too comfortable to not go. He didn’t feel like going back to an empty house just yet. Glass clinked against glass as he refilled, golden ambrosia spilling over, frothing slightly.

“– but as of four years ago, they have added vocals and another unique sound to their act, coming in the form of saxophone player nicknamed _Ghost_ – known for his soft, sad style, hauntingly so. The siblings have previously admitted that he is their new writer, and in this full length, 13 song album called _Tempest_ it’s clear to see the breadth of this man’s talent.”

Suga sipped his whiskey and dragged on his cigarette, tapped it and went to turn the tv off. The woman was practically narrating this band’s life. He had turned it on for some background noise, some ambient sound to not sit in silence, but this was putting him to sleep. He had half a mind to turn the channel over to the classical music that was playing 24/6 – they took Sunday’s off, but he didn’t. His thumb hovered over the remote. A split-second decision that changed the course of his life.

For, in that split second the music started.

It was an older song, the visuals blurred as the audio struggled. It hit him in a wave of beautiful sounds, a melody that held him safely in its arms. Suga wasn’t musical by nature, he loved it, knew nothing of it – but he could feel how special it was. He could feel the emotion, the sorrowful lows, the painful highs.

His eyes narrowed in on the pixelated sax player, the emotion behind the notes heavier than the silver-haired duo. The sax player wasn’t called the _ghost_ for nothing, next to the two with model features and standout hair, the sax player blended. But all the emotion came from there.

And then the vocals started.

If he had though whiskey to be ambrosia, then the sounds were the hymns the angels sang. Sang when punishing people for their sins, ripped and desperate, clear like the water in the rivers – and Suga could tell why the newsreader had called the lead silver-haired singer the _Heart._ It was caustic, the pure fear and sadness, the anxiety that the man was pouring out in front of thousands, the vulnerability pierced Suga, and he felt his body, with its anxious shifting and nervous tics still. He stilled.

It was violent. But it soothed every wound. It saw the cracks in Suga’s façade and tore them open. It was painful, wanting, wishing. He heard the sorrowful nostalgia hit the chorus. And then, tears were gathering in his eyes as every word hit closer to home. Too close to home. And all of a sudden, he was reminded of everything that he had tried to put behind him.

Reminded of a man like Daichi, of a man similar in looks to Akaashi, of a man like no one he’d ever met – someone who truly, truly understood him. Someone who had cared for every part of Suga, not just the fun outgoing parts of him, but the broken, the beaten, the bruises that had once peppered his skin, Devil’s kisses. He thinks of Iwa, and he hates that he hurts. And he hates that he feels lost in his own life. And he hates the emotions that well in him.

He ran away, ten years ago. Suga needed to stop thinking.

So, he downed the rest of his whiskey, pulled the plug from the bottle, chugged it, ignoring the burning sensation that flew down his throat. Ignoring the way that tears clung to his eyelashes. He wanted to forget.

Iwa was dead to him. He’d left. Suga had moved on. He’d moved on. _I’ve moved on_. But he hadn’t, because he was still feeling feelings he didn’t want to be feeling. He was still listening to the desperate cries of the angelic hymns, the subliminal feeling of heartfelt melancholy. His heart ripped in his chest. And the words spun a tale, sweet with love and sadness.

_Tender lovers_

_Fight in sunset dusk_

_To overcome their fate_

_The sorrowful outro_

_The orchestral_

_Music grows with_

_Heightened feelings and suspense_

_Love but a word branded in their minds_

_Sung by the choir of their souls_

_Two as one._

What was it? The voice continued on. What was it about this song that had hurt him? Why did someone out there feel these things too? The silver haired singer faded out and the spotlight grew on the saxophone player as the solo began. The cello played by a stunning woman kept the beat as the sax player poured his heart.

Why did that man look so familiar?

Suga sat at the bar. His fingers trembled as he drew a light on his next cigarette. The pixels faded to a black static screen. He wiped his face with his free hand and stood. The song had come to an end.

_Stay strong, Suga._ A mantra. _Stay strong for you and no one else. Don’t let anyone push you around._

He turned the tv off before the newsreader could continue with the next band or song or whatever else happened on these programs. Silver Mutiny indeed, his body had revolted against him, and he trembled. His hands stuttered as he went to open the back door, and when he stepped out, he felt calmer. But the light was exposing.

Right now, he had two options. Go home, sulk, let feelings be felt as he waited for Daichi. Or call Daichi and try to get him to come home early, try to explain to him that his body was on edge and needed to forget about everything so please come home so we can do something to get my mind off it. But Daichi wouldn’t. He cared. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t take time off work, not with him being the leading expert in neurosurgery in Japan.

Funny, he’d tried to get Suga to stop smoking, but the omega wouldn’t quit. He tried to get Suga to stop drinking, but the omega wouldn’t quit. How else was he supposed to cope? He…

_Not today, thoughts._

He wanted to erase his memory completely. But the past clung. Like a bad smell. Like a nightmare that wouldn’t leave him alone. While the bruises had long gone, the small scars faded, the trauma had never dulled. He’d never been able to completely shake free of it.

Suga leaned on the edge of the building for a half-second, then walked around to the front. He surveyed the street quietly, and tried to calm himself. But he was shaken. He needed a release – and the two he’d found just weren’t cutting it. A desire to lose himself further rose from the self-destructive ashes in the darkest corner of his mind.

Should he? He’d stopped recently, in fear of Daichi finding out about his _outlets_. But, his body craved more than what his alpha could give him. At least that’s what he told himself to rationalise it. Tried to justify his abhorrent behaviours. Though to be fair –to be fair, he told himself, it was the only thing he knew how to do.

He got out his phone. Dialled the number.

“Boss? Yeah, it’s Suga. Can you put me on the roster for tonight please? Right now, in fact. Mm. Ok. I’ll see you soon.”

And then the call ended, and his hand dropped to his side, then came back up with another cigarette.

There was no getting out of this loop. Of hurt, of pain, of outright denial.

For some reason he found himself wondering what Iwa would think if he could see him. Wondered what he was doing out in the big wide world. Wondered if he was ever going to see him again. Wondered how disappointed he’d be to find Suga killing himself slowly, alcoholic, smoker, in a bond he didn’t really want.

And he thought that, and then he didn’t. Squashing those thoughts like a bug underfoot. He wondered what colourful imagery Iwaizumi would use to describe it. Fuck. Thinking, thinking, thoughts. He had to get out of his head, out of the painful pulls of his heart.

He had to move on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty (Aphrodite),   
> How did y'all like that? Drop a comment on your thoughts, and leave a kudos if you haven't already. What sorta stuff do you wanna see in the future? Even like small scenes, that I could write in. Do y'all want next chapter to be Suga centered, or Iwa centred? 
> 
> I don't have much else to say here so Imma just sign off hehe  
> Lots of love,  
> Lou


	5. I hate it, but I love it too.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suga has secrets. Horrible, terrible secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys,   
> Sorry for the short wait in chapters – probably won't be able to update again this weekend (at least with this fic), so might as well post a new chapter now!! 
> 
> This is a Suga-centric chapter, and we have Daichi's POV – third person still, of course. So, oooo, exciting. 
> 
> Anyways, don't want to hold y'all back from reading so.... go ahead! Enjoy!!

**_Present Day – Somewhere in Japan_ **

It was dark, smoky. Haze covered the edges of the corners of shops. It had taken him the better part of a day to walk from the cozy uptown bar of Akaashi’s to his work, situated on the peripheries of the slums. The peripheries of the districts with the red lights and red lipstick.

He kicked a balled-up chunk of newspaper and clenched his fist in his coat pocket. He hated this place with all his heart, but there was no stopping himself. He couldn’t stop himself.

As his father had said all those years ago – _“You’ll never be free from the desire.”_ And he was right, as much as Suga hated to admit it, his omegan instincts had adjusted to the pain, to the pleasure and now wanted so much more. Even his alpha couldn’t satiate him. Even the bond that demanded his loyalty couldn’t keep strangers touches from exciting him. He hated it. But something inside him loved it.

He could see his old house from here. He shivered. Only the gold band of hope around his fourth finger could ground him, let him know that he was okay. He was out of that place. And working at a rival rut-house. He didn’t even have the energy to feel conflicted. It was routine by now – a routine that –.

Ah. Shit.

He checked his phone, lifting the screen to see the time – and shit, shit, shit. He was late. Quickly he turned into the slightly-nicer building to his right. It was dark and smoky, and had a heavy scent of sweat, adrenaline and sweet lusty omegan scents. His nose wrinkled, but he felt his body start to hum in anticipation. He couldn’t remember a time before needing this feeling. He needed it.

His footsteps were dampened by the peeling lino, and the throbbing bass of the room right in front of him. A large black suited man, alpha definitely, guarded the doors. Suga turned towards a desk, jutting out from the wall. The lights above it shifted between the hues of the rainbow. The establishment had a lot of money to spare – street kids and forgotten objects tended to only need a pittance to satiate the monetary needs.

A small omegan female smiled at him then frowned at his apparel. She sighed, “The back room’s free for you to change, and the nightclub has just opened, so instead of taking requests, the boss wants you in there. Advertising, I suppose.”

Suga nodded to the female, neither knowing her name nor her job. For all he knew, she could be the owner of the not-so-proud establishment.

“Pay?” He asked, shortly. He could never bring himself to speak much here, it reminded him too much of the training he underwent in his youth. Absentmindedly, he brought his hand to trace the length of his neck. The omegan female blushed as he did so – he was exposing his neck to her after all. But he didn’t really see the appeal. It had been trained out of him. He shouldn’t try to pleasure himself – he should pleasure others.

“Cash. You’ll get a cut of what we acquire in payments at the bar and the payment booths to get upstairs.”

He nodded, swallowed and sent her a small smile. Her blush deepened and he didn’t know why. Suga was just being friendly.

  * ••



**_Present Day – Tokyo_ **

Daichi had been given a gift. The gift was a week away from his omega (his wife, he liked to think), a week spent in one of the worst hospital’s in Tokyo, a week spent with little sleep and little time to call his own. It wasn’t much of a gift, but a horrible clause of his job – the fine print that came with his prestigious title.

So, he stood on the roof, leaning out over the edge, watching the sun drip between the cracks of sky between buildings, a golden smoky haze. He neither smoked, nor drank, but he devoured sunsets like he was addicted. As if the sun, so strong and mighty, became vulnerable, spreading its colours through the sky, slipping off to sleep. He rubbed his eyes; he was more tired than he thought. Oh well. The flighty scuttering little doctors and nurses couldn’t teach themselves here, apparently.

But he’d always been a leader. He’d always wanted to tend, to care for people. And he remembered the first day he felt like that. The first day he’d met him.

  * ••



**_Daichi’s first year at Karasuno – the Volleyball Club_ **

_“Please take care of us!” The two boys had bowed to their seniors, had yelled it to everyone in the club._

_They’d handed in their applications – and it had been only them to get accepted. Well, there as Asahi as well – but he didn’t look like a first year, so did it count? Daichi had grinned at him and given him a congratulations and a high five, so yeah, maybe it did count._

_Asahi had been loud, though Daichi could tell at once he was a soft-spoken person, but the silver-haired kid next to him was quiet, and when he talked his voice was rough. Rough in the way that told Daichi he’d either been crying, or had a cold, or both. And Daichi wanted to help, but they weren’t even friends, so he didn’t say anything._

_The three newbies had to struggle through training together that day. The captains were harsh but kind, and Daichi longed to be in their place – they were so cool. All their seniors were so cool, but the training was more of a slog than he remembered it being in middle school. He’d been playing for years – so he couldn’t imagine the struggle Asahi and the silver haired kid (when they introduced themselves, he didn’t catch the kid’s name) were having. They were new to it after all._

_So, he looked over from where he was practiced his receives with the team’s libero, and he caught it. He caught the moment of the team captain berating the two others, and he caught the way silver-haired flinched and he caught the way that his arms seemed to tremble slightly. And he wondered what he could do to help. He hoped he could do something to help_

_The next day the boy came to school with a dark bruise circling his neck, and a cut on his lip and Daichi pulled him aside in the locker rooms to get out and show off his impressive first aid kit and apply ointment to the hurt. He didn’t even know the boy was an omega, all he knew was that Suga was hurting and he wanted to help that fragile flower bloom._

_And sometimes flowers can only flourish in captivity. They started courting two months after meeting, and Daichi could not stop the elated feeling in his chest that he received like a blow to his stomach every time he looked at Suga. His flower. His omega._

_He wanted to wash all the hurt away, and turn a new page with him, together._

  * ••



**_Present Day – in the back room of somewhere unsafe_ **

Suga stared in the mirror a little too long. He’d used his room too many times to be proud, he knew where everything was in the dark smoky room. It smelt of cigarettes and bums, mainly because he was the smoker and other omegas usually spent their time here either relieving pent up tension the night had left them with or applying a cheap ointment to ulcers, swollen parts and any bruises they had been gifted over the course of the evening. He tended to steer clear from those himself – there were better ointments at home that his mate had forgotten about.

He turned his head and ran a finger down his jawline, inspecting the stubble that was beginning to prickle his finger. Sighing, he knelt down, unlocked his locker and began to strip. Coat off first, then shirt, then pants until all he was standing in were a pair of boxers. He pulled them off too and stuff the clothes into his locker, then from another shelf of it (there were two shelves) he pulled a loose sequin outfit – not sure how to classify it, but it was feminine and it was extremely revealing. He sighed, yet again, and slipped it on. It slid easily over his smooth skin, and he knew as soon as he got into the room with the thumping bass, he would be pulled aside and it would come right off again.

The mirror seemed to taunt him. Here he was, after years of abuse in this very industry, after countless escapes from his life, here he was indulging in the very thing that broke him. His heart twanged painfully in his chest, but his body longed for something more. He longed for fulfillment.

And then he knelt again and from the hook inside the door he pulled a small strap of leather.

A collar.

A collar to hide his bond mark, to stop other alphas from scenting him _there_ where his alpha had lain claim to him. The collar was a warning to other alphas that this one was taken. Unfortunately, collared omegas in these sorts of establishments tended to get more attention, tended to get roughhoused more, tended to get…

… well, it didn’t matter. He secured it on his neck regardless, then stared at himself. He held his own gaze and tried to ignore the small cries for help that his eyes sent him, the darkness behind them that threatened to swallow him up.

Oh well. _Oh well. If it swallows me, will I find peace? No shut up you idiot, don’t be so selfish. There are people who care for you. Just do what you want to do and be done with it._

Suga knew he was a hypocrite. But at that moment in time, he didn’t care. He had a job to do, he had money to make.

So, he stepped out of the back room, into the reception again, gave a soft smile to the lady at the desk – who wolf whistled and blushed – and stepped past the hunk of a bodyguard into the throbbing techno.

Sweaty bodies crowed the dance floor. The bar was littered with people chatting and drinking; cold, calculating, lustful eyes sweeping across the surrounds. Around the edges, the dark, dark edges, people pushed up against other people, getting to know each other – in more ways than just talking. Suga approached the bar first – that was where the lady told him to go, at the bar were the richer clients who had the money to buy a night.

Clients. It didn’t fit the people buying. They were alphas. Alphas that talked and teased and controlled everything. Suga pushed down the rising nausea and took a seat.

“Give me your strongest.” He told the barkeeper, who knew him to be an employee and nodded, not touching the till for the price. It would be on the house – after all, there had to be some benefit from this gig.

Someone was eying him. He could feel it in the hairs stood straight on the back of his neck.

“Does your mate know you’re out at a place like this, wearing a pretty little thing like this?” He felt someone’s breath beside him and turned to see an alpha, tall, dark-haired and handsome leaning in. The man was seated beside him and was stirring a drink that looked a little too weak for someone to come to relax. His scent was strong, and Suga, in all his omegan senses that still worked, knew this alpha was coming onto his rut. They didn’t call it a rut-house for nothing.

“No.” He replied lightly, then let his eyes flick over to the dance floor, “And I’m not planning to go back home for a while yet.”

“Can I take you upstairs omega?” Direct, to the point. Suga’s heart panged for a man he wished he still knew. Fuck. No. He came here to work, to appease the hole that was left, he came here to remember the twisted in hope that his home wife life could satisfy him again. But he now, hearing these words of the other man, only felt guilty, only felt the cavern in his stomach open wider.

He flicked his eyes over to the dance floor, again, wanting to find a way out. Somewhere, somehow. So, he smirked, drank the drink he’d forgotten about and slipped from his seat, feeling the sequinned fabric pull slightly around his legs. The alphas eyes flicked downwards, then back up and Suga shivered at the way he licked his lips.

The alcohol was already coming into effect when he reached the dance floor. And he let loose. His hips swayed seductively and he winked at the alphas – inhibitions gone, nausea gone, guilt forgotten. This was more like it. Bodies pressed in on him and then they were also gone, as people moved out his way, eyes scanning him like he was doing something very illegal. He wasn’t, and Suga didn’t know why this happened every time he came here. He didn’t know why the alpha’s jostled with each other just to get in his line of sight.

A warm breath against his neck alerted him to somebody who dared to get close. Teeth pulled at the collar, and cold air touched the sweaty neck hidden by the leather strap. His breath caught in his throat.

That night, Suga went upstairs with a blond-haired stranger, who was tall and handsome and had an open, honest face. And he forgot about his mate, he forgot about his past, about his future.

This was moving on, wasn’t it?

Yeah. It was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmmmmmmm,   
> Sorry? 
> 
> I feel so sorry for Suga, so I hope I did him some justice and articulated clearly why he's doing this. I could have gone into more detail about the "that night" scene, but... wasn't sure who to write it with. 
> 
> Oh, yeah. Also, from now on in, flashbacks are going to be the italicised parts – just making it easier to distinguish. 
> 
> As always, drop a comment on your thoughts! Would you like to see more of Suga, Iwa, or Daichi next chapter? Any fluff scenes you want to see to lighten the mood? Haha. 
> 
> I hope y'all liked it,   
> Lots of love,  
> Lou


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